At Your Heels
by Amy11
Summary: AU after Wrecked, where Buffy asks something of Spike he can't give.


Disclaimer: Joss made the characters. I just sort of like to mess with them sometimes.  
Spoilers: Through Wrecked.  
~~~~  
  
  
  
"Death is at your heels, baby, and  
sooner or later it's gonna catch you."  
--Spike; Fool For Love  
* * * * *  
  
  
She slipped into his crypt quietly, but he heard her. Taking a long draw from his cigarette, he held it in, feeling the delicious sting of the smoke as it filled his lungs. When he saw her feet begin down the ladder, he exhaled a thin strand of smoke and ground out his cigarette into an ashtray beside his bed.   
  
She walked over to him, her eyes dark and expectant, and he raised his eyebrows a little bit. "So you've lowered yourself again, Slayer, is that what this is?" he murmured with studied indifference.  
  
Buffy held his gaze steady and he tried not to flinch at the emptiness he saw in her eyes. "You knew I was coming," she said quietly.  
  
"I had a feeling," he agreed with a slight, almost gentle smile. "Now tell me why you're here."  
  
"You know why I'm here."  
  
"True," he shrugged, pulling himself up to stand. He rounded the bed and approached her. "Or, at least I'm pretty sure. But I'd like to here it from you."  
  
"I... We... I want--"  
  
"Why are you here?" he repeated, and this time his voice was hard, clipped.   
  
She knew what he wanted; knew that he knew how degrading it would be for her to ask for him to have sex with her, but still he waited for her answer. She drew in a long breath, trying to steady herself and then, before she could change her mind, said what she knew he wanted to hear, "I want to have sex with you now."  
  
Her voice was so polite that he almost laughed, but there was something else in it that gave him pause-- a sort of... Relief. "Why do you want me to make love to you?" he asked then, intentionally substituting 'sex' for 'make love,' partly because he knew it would piss her off and partly because that's how he wanted to think of it.   
  
But she didn't get angry, like he expected. She didn't shoot her mouth off, saying something awful to him, like he half-hoped. Instead she just stood there, watching his eyes move down her body, then back up to her face, searching her gaze for something he, perhaps, needed.   
  
"Why, Buffy?" and he found he really wanted to hear her reason.  
  
"Because..."  
  
"Why?" he repeated hoarsely, staring at her, looking for some sign that it was her in there, that she wanted to be there with him because he could give her what others could not. Looking for some small signal that everything he'd fantasized about her-- about the two of them together-- could come true.  
  
"Because," she murmured again, her soft voice loud in the hush, "I touch death when I touch you. That's why I keep coming back. That's why this is where I want to be."  
  
Spike jerked and took a step back, feeling her words physically, like a blow, deep inside him. Stifling the pain, he stalked away from her and drew another cigarette out of his pack, lighting it instantly. In a harsh voice he said, "I can't give that to you, Slayer." Then he glanced at her, saw that her face had yet to change, was still a blank mask with who-knows-what going on in her mind, and he sighed, his tone softening. "Please don't ask me to," he murmured at last, the last work breaking.  
  
She nodded. "Just... Give me what you can. I know you want me, Spike." Her voice dropped to a titillating whisper, and Spike found his body responding against his will. "You can have me. Just think of it. You get what you want and I'll get... Some of what I want. We're good together. You know it. You feel it." She smiled, and it was disturbingly sensual. "You want to feel me, too... Don't you?"  
  
"Christ, yes," he grated out before he could stop himself. Then she ruined the illusion by letting her smile drop for a single second, to be replaced with that damned look of relief again. But he saw it, and his spine snapped straight. "But I'm not going to, not like this."  
  
She glared at him for a moment and he felt his own relief begin, because there she was-- that was Buffy, not the bland face of a doll, but her fury and her indignation and everything else that made her shine. The moment faded and she said in a logical tone, "Spike--"  
  
"Don't," he interrupted, walking back over to her. "I want you, we both know that. I can't close my eyes without seeing you there. I'm in love with you, Buffy. In love. Full stop, period." He looked into her eyes and thought he saw something flicker, so he rushed on, "I can give you that. I can give you everything you want. I can try my hardest to make you feel alive, to make you feel good. Turn my back on my old ways, you know. Already workin' on it. I'll do whatever it is you want me to for as long as you want me to... Except that. I remember what it was like when you were dead, Buffy. I *remember*. And while it may have been fancy and light for you, it wasn't here. I don't want to remind myself of that. I can't."   
  
She opened her mouth to reply but he was kissing her, hungrily, anxiously... Lovingly. After a moment he wrenched his mouth away. "I'll give you what you really need, if you'll let me," he said quietly.   
  
His fingers traced up her sleeve, slow small circles, teasingly. He watched her face and realized that she was very close to losing that tight control she'd had since she'd arrived. He leaned down and tentatively kissed her jaw. Make up your mind...  
  
He took her hands and hooked them around his neck, and although she didn't help him, she didn't remove them either. He touched his mouth to hers again, briefly, not closing his eyes, still studying her and her reactions. Make up your mind...  
  
His hands slipped down and rested on her hips and he drew her closer to him, pressing her body so close that he could feel her breasts flatten against his chest, feel the lines of her ribs, the way her body fitted so nicely against his. Decide...  
  
Kissing her again, making a point to make the kiss so unlike most of their others that were filled with such angry, needy passion, his mouth moved slowly against hers, languidly. She opened her mouth under his and so he slanted his lips against her with a little more pressure, feeling hope bloom in his chest when her hands tightened around him fractionally. The kiss was sweet, and endless and moist and everything he ever knew it would be like when he was really kissing her, really kissing the real Buffy. Choose...  
  
When he ended the kiss, he looked into her eyes for any sign that he could continue to keep that hope in his heart, and she stared back at him with huge eyes that were suddenly, inexplicably, filled with tears.  
  
Make up your mind...  
  
"No, Spike," she said and her voice caught a little on his name. "I'm sorry. I should have realized that you couldn't... I shouldn't have come here. I'm sorry," she said again, pulling a little, and it was then that Spike realize he hadn't released her from his arms yet.  
  
He did so, raking his hand through his hair, swallowing with effort.   
  
When she was free, she took one last look, and bounded away, climbing the ladder with a swiftness he'd never seen before. A moment later he heard the door to the tomb shut with a loud 'clang.'   
  
He sat back down on the bed, put his face in his hands, and let loose a string of curses. When he was out of words to say, he laid back down and tried not to cry.  
  
After all, he reminded himself, he didn't have a soul.   
* * * * *  
  
"He... He's gone," Buffy murmured, stroking Dawn's hair. "He left town, Honey."  
  
"Why didn't he say goodbye?" Her little sister's voice came out in a whimper.  
  
For a moment Buffy didn't speak; she knew very well why he didn't say goodbye-- they had said their goodbyes forty-eight ours ago when she had asked for death. In truth, she didn't understand why he didn't say goodbye to Dawn, but figured it was just as well overall. Nothing good could come out of Dawn having to face the fact that yet another person she'd loved was saying goodbye.  
  
Then again, Buffy reasoned silently, maybe the questions were hurting Dawn more.   
  
Finally she said, "I think it was because of me. I think maybe he didn't want to see me, no matter how much he wanted to see you to say goodbye."  
  
Dawn pulled away, looking suddenly and inexplicably angry. "You had to keep pushing him, didn't you? You just had to make sure that you broke his heart on every possible occasion, just because you hate him."  
  
Buffy was startled. "Dawn, that's unfair. I don't... I don't hate Spike anymore. I'm not blind; I know what he did for you, for me, while I was... Gone. I know how much he cares about you and that fact alone keeps me from *hating* him. I just can't be with him, and he was hoping for... More than I could give."  
  
"You couldn't give him *anything," Dawn said bitterly, her eyes glittering with unshed tears.  
  
Buffy looked away, biting her lip.  
  
Dawn paused. "Did... Did you give him something?"  
  
"I just said," Buffy started softly, trying to make her words sound convincing, "That I couldn't give him--"  
  
"What he wanted. Yeah, I get that. But you gave him what you wanted, didn't you?" Dawn stood, glaring at her sister. "You... You were *with* him. You were selfish and you knew that he would leave me and everyone when all he's done in the past year is help. You *knew* that he would leave if you hurt him again and then you did. Did you do it just to hurt the rest of us? You know how much he helped sometimes."  
  
Buffy felt anger start to boil inside her. Without thinking, she said, "You ungrateful little... What business is it of yours, or anyone's, what I do? You were so *happy* when I came back, no matter the cost to me, and now all you do is complain and fight with me and do your damnedest to make sure Social Services takes you away. You don't even know--" She broke off as Dawn's tears began to fall.  
  
Crossing the room, she gathered her little sister in her arms. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."  
  
"Yes, you did," Dawn mumbled, shrugging out of her arms and wiping her tears away with a furious hand. "And I get it. You're right, I shouldn't have done the things I've been doing. But you didn't have to make him leave to teach me a lesson."  
  
"Oh, Dawn," Buffy whispered achingly. "Is that what you think I did? Do you think that I want to hurt you? Don't you know that I would give my life for you?"  
  
"You did," Dawn said quietly. "You did, and now... Now I don't think you have any life left to give."  
  
She looked at Buffy for a long moment and then fled up the stairs. A moment later Buffy, still frozen in shock, heard her sister slam her door.  
* * * * * *  
  
Spike bent over his beer, surveying the small group of people in the dimly lit bar. After a few moments, his eyes locked on a pretty blond woman. She wasn't really very close-- her hair wasn't as silky and was a shade lighter, her nose a bit longer and her lips not quite as full. Her clothes consisted of a tube top that left half her cleavage spilling out and a tight, short skirt, so he could see very plainly that she didn't have the class that he usually looked for-- but she would do. She was petite and had pretty blue eyes, almost the same shape as B-- hers.   
  
Spike swore under his breath as he caught himself almost thinking her name, and then controlled himself. He stood, walked over to her, smiling slowly as she preened silently under his obviously favorable perusal of her.   
  
They wasted little time talking, which was the way he liked it. They went back to her place and the sex was slower than he would have preferred, but if he set too hard a pace, he might hurt the woman and then he wouldn't be able to imagine that it was the Slayer underneath him, staring up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, breathing raggedly, asking for more.   
  
Really, he wanted to kill her. He supposed it was possible, now that his chip didn't seem to have any aversion to him giving *her* pain, but he just couldn't do it. It was reflex, this hating her, and only because she couldn't love him. As much as he'd like to give her the death she'd so calmly commented on, he could never do that.  
  
So he did this instead.   
  
He found someone who looked like her and for a few short, blissful hours, allowed himself to pretend that she loved him back.   
  
It was all he could do.  
* * * * *  
  
The crowd was a little thicker, the bar a little more brightly lit and noisier, but it was the same situation that it always was. He looked around, trying to find her-- or, who she would be for the night, anyway. Discarding the couple of blondes at the end of the bar-- one was too tall and the other not nearly as pretty as he needed-- his eyes swept over the dance floor. After a moment he froze.  
  
Because either the bloody 'Bot had managed to rebuild herself, or that was Buffy in the middle, her hips undulating provocatively to the beat of the song. A man-- strike that, a vampire, Spike thought, curling his lip in distaste as he realized it-- danced close to her and then paused to lean down and whisper something in her ear. Buffy smiled up at him lazily, and Spike felt his gut tighten as he wondered what she was playing at, why she was even there.  
  
He watched the vampire take her hand and lead her away from the crowd and the two of them disappeared through the rear exit door. Spike followed, getting caught in the crush of bodies, getting more and more frustrated as the seconds passed but unable to just shove them out of his way lest he activate his chip. Finally he made it to the opposite end of the dance floor and he shoved open the exit door in time to see Buffy flying across the alley and hit the brick wall with such force that even he winced.   
  
The other vampire laughed and walked over to Buffy as she straightened-- but not with the quickness Spike knew was in her. The vampire caught her by the throat and Buffy feebly knocked his hand away from her, landing a solid punch in his jaw. But he recovered more swiftly than she had and caught her next punch in his hand, bending her fist back until he heard a satisfying snap. Buffy murmured a whimper at that that the vampire shoved her up against the wall again, striking her face with the back of his free hand, and muttered, "I've never had a Slayer before," as he lowered his fangs to her neck.  
  
"And you're never going to," Spike ground out, picking up the stake lying uselessly on the ground-- Buffy must've dropped it, he thought-- and stabbed it deep into the vampire's chest.   
  
A cloud of dust blurred Buffy for a moment but when the air cleared, he crossed his arms and gazed at her. "Trying to get yourself killed, pet?"  
  
"I was fighting him," she murmured defensively, rolling the kinks and pains out of her shoulders, not meeting his eyes.  
  
"But not well, as we both witnessed. I think you must have a--" He stopped short and stared. After a moment, he thrust his fingers into his hair, turning slightly away from her to gather his wits. "Fuck, Buffy. Of course you do."  
  
"Do what?" she asked, and her voice was amazingly mild, because he knew she knew what he was talking about.  
  
"Have a death wish," he said darkly. "You even told me you did but I thought... I thought you weren't really going to... I didn't think that you'd--"  
  
"I was fighting him, okay?" she said, anger seeping into her tone. "It's not like he managed to kill me."  
  
"But he would have." Spike grimaced. "He was probably only a few years old, too. He didn't have so much skill that at least I could say you'd had a good death. I wouldn't even respect it. Couldn't you have found someone older?"  
  
"Shut up, Spike," she murmured wearily and walked passed him, absently massaging her wrist.  
  
He caught her arm. "I sure as hell won't. Where do you get off doing this, Buffy? Where do you get off trying to die in some alley like a fucking *coward*? You have Dawn to take care of and I don't care how hard things have been for you-- you were taking the easy way out and since when do you do that?"  
  
When she didn't respond, when her control didn't slip even a little, he did the only thing he could think to do.  
  
He kissed her.   
  
It was violent, nothing like his kisses with his faux Buffy's, and his teeth scraped against her mouth as she opened it under his. Hungrily, she grasped the lapels of his duster and kissed him back. He walked her backwards toward the wall she'd just been about to die against and lifted her skirt as the kiss continued, slipping his fingers inside her panties and expertly thrumming his thumb against her. She made a strangled noise deep in her throat and reached down to unzip him, pulling his erection free. He started slightly when he felt her tiny, warm hands against his skin and then lifted her fractionally, pushing her panties aside, and entered her with one long, quick thrust.  
  
She keened, coming almost instantly as he continued to kiss her bruisingly, as he'd wanted to do since she'd left his crypt that night over a month ago. He thrust into her hard, emptying himself, licking the blood from her lips, gentling the kiss.  
  
After a moment he pulled away from her and watched her with hot eyes as she straightened her clothes, his anger having not yet dissipated. His mouth was set into a straight line as he zipped up, and then he glared at her with the disapproval he felt at himself for doing what he just had.  
  
But Buffy was silent and she didn't look him in the eye and after a moment, Spike understood that she meant to just leave without explaining anything and rage boiled in his chest.  
  
"Bloody hell, go," he said with disgust, grabbing her chin and forcing her face to his, "I don't care. If you want to die, I'm not going to stop you. I thought you were stronger than that, which was one of the reasons I thought I loved you, but I guess none of it's true. This has been helpful, at least in that way. Get out of my sight."  
  
To his surprise after the lack of emotion she'd showed, her eyes were filled with tears when they met his. His fingers slackened on her jaw and his face softened.   
  
"Dawn-- they-- you all were better off with me gone," she whispered, and her tears finally spilled over.  
  
He gathered her into his arms, letting her weep against his chest, and with every shattered breath she took, he broke inside. "We were not better off with you gone," he said, the words coming out quietly but with so much force he felt as though he were yelling them.  
  
"I'm useless this way," she choked out, her words muffled against his shirt, thick with tears, "I'm useless and I don't know how-- I don't know how to get back. And I want it, I want to be gone to where it doesn't hurt anymore and I can't *stand* it, there's so much that I hate about... About just being alive..." She trailed off, her sobs getting louder, more ragged and she clutched at his shirt blindly. "I miss it."  
  
He didn't ask what she missed, because he knew, though he would never be able to explain it. She missed the safety of being dead. She missed the promise of eternal warmth and no worries. She missed the place where there were no vampires in love with her wanting her to make promises she wasn't ready-- might never be ready-- to make; the place where there were no bratty kid sisters to act as though they hadn't even missed her when she was gone; the place where she didn't have to accept that because her friends had problems, it meant that she had problems too.  
  
She missed the safety.   
  
After a while, her sobs quieted until they were nothing but slow, deep breaths that caught slightly once in a while, but she continued clinging to him. Finally he forced her a few inches away from his chest so he could look into her eyes. Her gaze was dull and, he noticed uneasily, a little empty.   
  
"You know what I miss?" he asked, and the question surprised him as much as his voice did in the sudden hush. Without waiting for her to answer, he murmured, "I miss the way you look when you're fighting. The look you get on your face when you know you're going to win."  
  
"I only got that look when I was fighting you," she said.  
  
A bark of startled laughter tore out of his throat. "You can miss things that you didn't particularly enjoy."  
  
A smile quirked the corners of her mouth up; almost unnoticeable, it was so faint, but it was a smile nonetheless.   
  
"Why did you come here?" he asked softly.  
  
"I was looking for you."  
  
"Why?" he stared at her face, trying to glean answers from her expression, but it was carefully blank-- though not for the reasons it had been before, Spike suddenly knew.  
  
Finally, she admitted, "I was going to stake you."  
  
"Because I didn't give you what you wanted?" he asked, brushing his thumb gently over her cheek.  
  
"Because you could," she said after a long moment of silence.  
  
His brow furrowed in confusion until he remembered what he'd offered her on that night when she'd come to her asking for death. Warmly, unexpectedly, he smiled and Buffy thought with a strange distance that he looked like a child when he grinned; like a little boy who'd just been told how special he was.   
  
Then he paused, his eyes darkening. Slowly, he ventured, "Can I still?"  
  
She bit her lip. "I really don't know. Not if I stake you."  
  
"Still planning on that, are you?"  
  
"I'm *always* planning it, Spike," she said wryly, her eyes twinkling, and he realized that it was the most of her, really her, that he'd seen since she'd returned from the dead. His arms still loosely around her, he leaned forward and brushed his lips lightly against her temple.  
  
"I miss that too," he murmured roughly.  
  
"What?"  
  
"The way you plan on killing me--" he threw her a rakish wink, "And never manage to actually go through with it."  
  
"Keep pushing and someday I might," she muttered, but didn't let go of her hold on him.  
  
"Tell you what, then, Pet..." He hesitated, then spoke cautiously, "You could take a step back from wanting to be... Gone, and I'll take you home. And then you'll come and see me if you have some things you need to get out of your system because, hell, look what happens when you bottle up."  
  
"You said that I came to you because I couldn't go to them," she softly, breaking eye contact, reminding him of that night he'd sung to her months ago.  
  
"I still think it's true," he said bluntly. "But now at least you're not hiding it from them. And maybe I was a little too quick to say that I couldn't handle it. Maybe I can. Especially if it comes with..." he smirked. "Benefits."  
  
"I don't know about that," she muttered, irritated with him and at the same time, finding her irritation strangely pleasant.  
  
"Come on, Slayer." He let go of her and started to gently propel her out of the alley, his hand on the small of her back. "Let's go."  
  
"You know what?" she asked, glancing up at him.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Dawn really missed you." She paused and then said-- not without relish-- "She's really going to give you hell when you get back for leaving without saying goodbye." After another moment she said, quickly and under her breath, "I might too."  
  
Finally he looked down at her again, a smile turning up his mouth.   
  
"I look forward to it."  
  
  
The End 


End file.
